


Of Rabbits And Bats

by ForgottenChesire



Series: For Friends [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 22:26:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8226733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenChesire/pseuds/ForgottenChesire
Summary: Just a short fluffyish piece about Harley and Batman.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend.

They say you can’t fix crazy unless it’s with a bullet to the brain. Well, people who have never studied or cared to study psychology say that with a sneer and sometimes Harley thinks they’re right- despite her doctorate. Sometimes she fears she’s slipping down the slope of insanity and about to drop down the deep abyss that is madness. There are times late at night when she hears _him_ laughing, feels his fingers on her neck, smells the clogging scent of his face paint. He haunts her dreams and stands at the corner of her vision like her own personal rabid White Rabbit. She’s tainted, broken, insane and yet there are people who want to help her. People that keep her from sliding down and drowning, from following that rabbit and being turned.

 

One of those people is Bruce Wayne- The Batman- millionaire, playboy who never settles down. He’s got a past darker than the cape he wears but somehow he never dips down into the dark waters. Or as far as she has seen he hasn’t slipped down. Bruce is strong and silent and holds her close when the demons come out to play. He never tries to keep her trapped, frees her from the invisible cage society puts around her, he just asks that she does do bad anymore. And without Joker whispers ‘We’re all mad here.’ in her ears it’s easy to stay Doctor Harleen Frances Quinzel.

 

There are times she wonders if maybe he doesn’t love her, he never says it but it’s in his actions. In the way he holds her hands. The way he kisses each of her fingers, her wrist, her lips. The way he rubs her calves and shoulders after a hard day at work. The way he stares into her eyes as he slowly opens her. The way he sucks little love bites into her skin. The frantic way the fuck against a wall whenever things get a little too close for comfort. The way he wears her claim proudly. _He loves her_ , it’s there in everything but words.

 

She sneaks into his room, it’s not a bad thing, it isn’t, he told her she could if the dreams became too much, and stands at the foot of his bed. She’s wearing a black teddy with lace on the edges- a gift from Bruce- and she’s cold but she can’t bring herself to slip into his bed. Not yet. Instead, she watches him sleep. Thrives in the rise and fall of his chest. Proof that he is alive. The wind blows into the room through the open window and she crawls into bed, slotting her back against his chest. She lets out a sigh contentedness as he pulls her closer.

 

He’s no Mistah J, in fact, he’s better. He is her hero in the cape and out of it. She grabs his hand, brings it to her face and places a kiss on it.

 

“I love ya Brucie,” she whispers softly.

 

“I love you too.”

  
She falls asleep and dreams of bats and red chested baby birds instead of white rabbits with red mouths and rabbit holes that end with spikes.


End file.
